


help me, obi wan kenobi

by mjscorner



Series: broskepol's prompts [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avenger James "Rhodey" Rhodes, BAMF James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Flash Thompson Being A Jerk, Gen, Good Friend Ned Leeds, Hurt Peter Parker, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Kidnapping, Parent Tony Stark, Peer Pressure, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker has PTSD, Peter Parker is a Mess, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Protective Ned Leeds, Protective Tony Stark, Star Trek References, Star Wars References, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Lives, Uncle James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Underage Drinking, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25118605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjscorner/pseuds/mjscorner
Summary: “...Huh.”“...What’s so funny?”“Nothin’, Mis’er Stark...just thinkin’...you remember that episode of Star Wars we watched together?”“You’ll have to be more specific there, bud. We do that quite a lot.”“Oh, uh...okay, I think it was the one where, um...do you remember when the Starfleet comes to help the Rebels in episode five?”If Peter had been sober, he probably would’ve been able to hear Tony’s face harden and his eyes go dark from over the phone. Even Ned was staring at Peter like he was some sort of alien.“...What the hell did you just say?”ORpeter gets so drunk that he mixes up star wars and star trek. peter and tony make it their code phrase.PROMPT AND ART BY @BROSKEPOL ON TUMBLR
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: broskepol's prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819474
Comments: 45
Kudos: 637





	help me, obi wan kenobi

**Author's Note:**

> prompt for this work was posted by @broskepol on tumblr. all credit for this idea goes to her!  
> EDIT: INCREDIBLE ART IS BY THE AMAZING @BROSKEPOL ON TUMBLR <3

Flash had collapsed onto the couch beside Peter, a dead give away that something humiliating was about to happen.

“Hey, Penis,” Flash had started, a sinister smirk already tugging on his lip. Peter looked up from his phone in dread, having spent a majority of the party organizing the photos on his phone in a vein attempt to appear as if he were actually occupied somehow.

Flash saw right through it. The other forty kids at the house party he was trapped at probably did, too, but Peter loved living in ignorant bliss every now and then.

“Yeah, hi, Flash.”

“You ever tried alcohol, Parker?”

“Uh,” Peter swallowed thickly upon noticing the liquor bottle in Flash’s grip, the liquid sloshing against the sides. Flash was probably trying to taunt him, though Peter had to admit the action was more sickening than anything else. “Y-yeah. Of course I have, man.”

“...Huh.”

Flash still unscrewed the lid of the bottle and reached for an empty red solo cup resting on the surface of the coffee table, pouring a splash inside. He handed the cup to Peter, who had been expecting it though he still tried to choke down his dread at the action.

“Then you probably won’t mind this stuff. It’s just sangria.”

“Mm, yeah,” Peter huffed a forced laugh, taking the cup with an ever-so-slightly trembling hang. “Just-just sangria.”

Flash spared a moment to narrow his eyes at Peter before he was reaching across the table and pouring himself a cup, too.

“Man, Penis, I haven’t seen you at a party since Liz’s homecoming party last year. Didn’t expect to see you at _mine_.”

“I’ll, uh,” Peter laughed as he swirled the drink in his cup, “attend as many parties as it takes until you stop calling me that.”

“In your dreams.”

Flash motioned to cheers their cups. Peter furrowed his brow and clinked cups with him before he was, with great hesitation, taking a swig from his shot of sangria.

“...Wow.”

“Good, huh?”

“That’s...actually not bad.”

“...I thought you said you’d had sangria before.”

“I-I mean, uh, this brand. This brand-it isn’t bad.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s got, like, thirteen, fourteen percent alcohol in a serving? This is a girl’s drink. My mom always drinks this stuff. That’s why I figured you’d like it.”

“...You’re a dick.”

Flash threw his head back with a laugh before he was dumping more sangria into Peter’s cup, rising from his seat on the couch and throwing his arms out in a grand gesture to his house party.

“The night is _young_ , Parker! Drink up!”

A group of kids congregating not far from the couch all cheered at Flash’s declaration, red solo cups in hand as they raised them into the air.

“You only live once,” Flash sighed, turning on his heel and gesturing at him with his cup. “Unless you’re like us, and you get a second chance.”

Peter kept that thought in mind when he refilled his cup to the brim two more times.

Peter wasn’t sure when Ned had returned from his seemingly eternal trip to the snack bar, but by the time he found Peter again, Peter could’ve sworn the walls and ceiling had switched.

“Peter, hey, I tried to get you the last slice of pepperoni, but it’s a _jungle_ out there-”

Ned stopped his rambling when he finally met Peter’s eyes, narrowing his own as Peter swayed slightly on his feet. He was blinking slowly and nodding rather obnoxiously at Ned’s every word.

Ned paled.

“...Peter...are you _drunk_?”

“I’m not... _not_ drunk.”

Ned blinked, a flash of betrayal crossing his features as he snatched the plastic cup from Peter’s hand, sniffing the inside of it.

“What is this? Fruit wine?”

“Flash said it was some kinda Sandrea.”

“...Do you mean sangria?”

“That’s _it_! How did you know?”

Ned brought a hand to his face, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Peter-”

“No, no, no, Ned, you gotta lis’en to me. This stuff is, like, really tasty.”

“Great. Slurred speech. I’m such a failure.”

“‘Kay, so, ‘member how we always thought alcohol had to taste _not_ good? Well, it doesn’t. It _doesn’t_ , Ned! It _can_ taste good! Aunt May was totally wrong.”

“Come with me.” Ned yanked Peter by the wrist and led him out of the living room.

“Oh, _yes_. We gonna go get s’more of this?”

“We’re going to get water. C’mon.”

“Ugh, no. I don’t want water.”

“You must’ve been really dehydrated to let yourself get this bad, Peter. You’re drinking water whether you like it or not.”

Peter snorted a laugh. Surprisingly, Ned had always been the level-headed one out of the two. He was quick to dismiss the idea of Peter hacking his multi-million dollar suit the year prior, as well as the first to be utterly horrified at Peter’s declaration that he would be a high school dropout once he became an Avenger.

When Peter returned back to the land of the living with trillions of others only a few months prior, terrified of being a burden to Tony, he found himself confiding in Ned a lot more than he had five years prior. Peter could say with confidence that he loved Ned deeply, and at that moment, Ned’s dedication to Peter shone through the party lights just as fiercely.

“I’ve never been drunk before,” Peter remarked. He wasn’t entirely sure why the declaration slipped out, instead allowed himself to be pulled toward the kitchen island like cattle.

“Yeah, obviously not.”

“You mad at me for somethin’?”

“No, I just-I don’t know. This isn’t like you. That’s all.”

Peter frowned. He crossed his arms over his chest as Ned flipped open one of the coolers on the floor and began digging inside for a bottle of water.

“You don’t know what ‘m like.”

“Uh, yeah, I do.”

Ned unscrewed the cap of the water bottle before he practically forced it into Peter’s mouth.

“Drink this. _All_ of it.”

Peter shrugged and crushed the plastic as he drained the bottle to its last drop.

“...Dammit. Enhanced metabolism. How much water is it gonna take to get you back to normal? Better yet, how much of that stuff did you drink to get _this_ inebriated?”

“Ned...don’ make up words, m’kay?”

“You have a four-point-oh GPA, Peter.”

“Nope,” Peter popped the “p,” stumbling a bit on his own feet. Ned instantly grabbed Peter by the shoulders, eyebrows pinched together in concern. “I never meant my grandpa.”

“...What? No your _GPA_ -you know what, never mind. I’m not wasting my time.”

Ned took Peter by the arm again and led him out of the kitchen. Peter’s altogether incoherentness and clumsiness made most of the trip up the spiral staircase in Flash’s house a blur, though he still found himself huffing in exhaustion when Ned finally shoved a bedroom door open and suddenly all Peter knew was _sleep_.

He stumbled toward Flash’s bed, poor balance sending him collapsing to his knees a mere few feet from the mattress.

“Dang it-Peter!”

Peter laughed uncontrollably as Ned scooped his friend up under his armpits and tugged him onto the bed, allowing Peter to sink into the mattress. Ned huffed in exhaustion and collapsed beside Peter, seemingly spent.

“Are we having a sleepover?”

“It’s either that or your Aunt comes to pick us up like this.”

“Aw...Aunt May...”

Ned frowned as he turned his head toward Peter, eyes widening as Peter’s face twisted into something devastated and he was _crying_.

“Oh, my-Peter? Hey, Peter, what’s wrong?”

“I just,” Peter choked on a sob, bringing a hand to his mouth, “I love her so much.”

“...Your Aunt?”

“ _Yes_.”

Ned heaved another exhausted sigh, bracing his hands on his knees as he rose from the mattress and began tugging Peter’s sneakers off. Peter’s whimpers slowly but surely died down, his eyelids drooping closed.

That is, until Peter’s back pocket began buzzing.

Peter fished his hand through his back pocket and hissed at the brightness of his screen, blinking until Tony’s face came into vision.

Peter answered it nonchalantly, oblivious to the world.

“Hey, Mis’er Stark!”

“... _Pete. Hey, kiddo_.”

Ned’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, pausing his process of untying Peter’s shoe like a deer caught in headlights.

“What’re you doin’?”

“ _Uh_ ,” Tony breathed a laugh on the other line, “ _that’s what I was calling to ask you, Webhead. FRIDAY tells me that your heart rate is goin’ a little fast, so, you know. Just making sure patrol is going okay._ ”

Honestly, Peter hadn’t heard a word.

He had suddenly become so fixated, so utterly floored by Flash’s Star Wars poster hanging on the wall across from the bed, that the entire world had suddenly dissolved into nothing around him.

“... _Peter? Hello?_ ”

“...Huh.”

“... _What’s so funny_?”

“Nothin’, Mis’er Stark...just thinkin’...you remember that episode of Star Wars we watched together?”

“ _You’ll have to be more specific there, bud. We do that quite a lot._ ”

“Oh, uh...okay, I think it was the one where, um...do you remember when the Starfleet comes to help the Rebels in episode five?”

If Peter had been sober, he probably would’ve been able to hear Tony’s face harden and his eyes go dark. Even Ned was staring at Peter like he was some sort of alien.

“...What the hell did you just say?”

“... _FRI, pull up Peter’s location._ ”

“ _Yes, Boss_.”

“Wha’s wrong, Mis’er Stark?”

“ _Peter...how do you feel_?”

“Mm...my head hurts. And ‘m real tired.”

Tony sighed on the other line. If Peter knew any better, he would say Tony sounded disappointed.

“ _I’m ten minutes away. Don’t move a single muscle. End call_.”

The other line clicked off. Peter slowly lowered his phone from his ear, stared at the ground, and waited, eyelids threatening to droop closed.

He acknowledged the overwhelming sadness growing in the pit of his stomach and swallowed it down, collapsing onto his back with a shaky exhale.

Peter sat curled in a ball in the passenger seat of Tony’s Audi, finally coming to terms with how utterly humiliated he was.

“...Kid, we gotta talk about this.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“I wish it were that simple.”

Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek and stared out the window, heart overwhelmingly heavy.

Being drunk had made his heart feel lighter. Peter hated himself with a passion for missing the feeling.

“I mean, Jesus, kid...I don’t hear from you for weeks, your Aunt texts me all the time about how you’re closing yourself off, and I pick you up from some house party and you’re blackout drunk? Confusing Star _Trek_ with Star _Wars_ , for Christ’s sake? I just...you’ve gotta talk to me, Pete. This is getting scary.”

“This isn’t...this wasn’t about that.”

“Good. Explain it to me, then. Please, pray tell me how you getting drunk has nothing to do with you...I don’t know. Closing yourself off? Bottling up your emotions? Take your pick. I’m all ears. Go.”

Peter wanted to blame the way his face scrunched and his eyes glossed over with tears on the alcohol, but he was too painfully grounded into reality at that moment to exist in such ignorance.

Peter sniffed. Tony’s eyes darted toward Peter in a heartbeat, expression immediately softening and eyes filling with worry.

“Hey, hey, hey.”

“’M sorry,” Peter spoke in a hushed whisper, taking in a trembling inhale. “I’m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.”

“Peter.” Tony finally parked the car in front of Peter’s apartment, unclicking his seat belt and giving Peter his complete, undivided attention. Peter shrank into himself under Tony’s stare, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“’M sorry. I didn’t mean to get drunk. ‘M sorry.”

“...What’re you really sorry for, kid?”

Peter met his gaze at that, the cavernous sadness in Tony’s eyes adding to the already unbearable weight in Peter’s chest.

Peter’s eyes trailed down to Tony’s arm. Tony had asked Peter to help him build the prosthetic after the battle with Thanos, and for god knows what reason, Peter had refused.

Maybe he was afraid of breaking Tony even more than he already had. He wasn’t sure.

Peter’s lip quivered after staring at Tony’s fake limb for far longer than he had intended, darting his gaze back down to his lap as he fiddled with his hands.

“You, uh...” Peter sniffed and shook his head, picking at his nail. “I mean, everyone says you invented time travel. Pepper said you kinda did it for me.”

Tony smiled fondly at the memory. “And I’d do it again.”

Peter didn’t grace the witty remark with a response, instead swallowing around the uncomfortable lump lodged in his throat and blinking away fresh, hot tears.

“And, I guess...I mean, you fought so hard so that you could bring me back. So that I could live. You brought me back to _life_ , and...”

Tony waited in silent suspense, eyes watching his kid carefully and fighting every instinct in his body that screamed at him to _hold your kid, dammit, he’s crying-_

But Tony found himself freezing instead, Peter’s words sending a continuous wave of chills down his spine.

“But I don’t really like life at all, I guess.”

About a week later, Tony and Peter hadn’t spoken much aside from the occasional “have a good day” text.

Peter promised himself he would respond, but sometimes, the guilt was too crippling to allow him.

He decided that night after he got out of Tony’s car that that would be the absolute last time he asked for Tony’s help. He had thought he decided that after the final battle with Thanos, in which Tony had cost himself a limb at the expense of Peter’s life.

He didn’t want to be the kid that Tony Stark tore the universe apart to find. He didn’t want to be the orphan charity case that got a free multi-million dollar suit from Tony only a few days after meeting him.

He especially didn’t want to have lost five years of his life, though that was a completely different can of worms.

But if Peter had learned anything from returning to life, it was that life was meant to be lived to the absolute fullest, because at any moment it could turn to dust and fade away forever.

So why, then, was Peter drugged out of his mind, tied to a chair, and staring down the barrel of a gun?

“I’m telling you,” the guy with the gun spat over his shoulder at his partner with a snarl, “if you can’t take care of this, I’m gonna.”

“The feds’ll never gonna find us here, alright? So would you just calm down?”

“Calm down? Kid should’ve been dead an hour ago.”

“Fine, fine, fine.”

“Yeah. Fine, fine, fine, you nimrod.”

“Um, excuse me?”

Both men snapped their attention back to Peter, gun still aimed inches from his face. Peter cleared his throat awkwardly and swallowed down the blood in his mouth, his eye still throbbing from the pistol whip he had braved only an hour before.

“What?”

“Look, I, uh...I know this doesn’t end well for me, okay?”

Peter thought back to the night before when he had been taken in the blink of an eye, his suit stripped of trackers and weapons and a bullet lodged into his shoulder. He thought of nothing but Tony all twenty-four hours in captivity, thought of nothing but how good it would feel to be back in Tony’s arms again and to really savor the man in all his glory while the universe still let him.

Instead, he’d wasted his second chance. All for a petty bank robbery, of which he would have come out of unscathed if his mind hadn’t been spinning the way it had for months.

“I-I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and...and I’ve made my peace with that.”

The two kidnappers made uneasy side glances toward one another, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“But, I mean, if you’re really going to kill me...can I please just make one last phone call? Before I die and all? No funny business. You can dial for me, you can listen in...”

The gunman tightened his grip on his weapon, weight shifting nervously on each foot.

“...and if I say anything, _anything_ that you don’t like...you can shoot me.”

Peter glanced down at the bullet hole already gushing blood out of his shoulder, a day old and already healing improperly.

“...Again, anyway.”

The gunman looked back over his shoulder at his partner, who only shrugged with nervous eyes. The gunman sighed hesitantly before he was fishing his phone out of his pocket and reluctantly unlocking it.

“...what’s the number, kid?”

Peter listed off the numbers like they were tattooed to his brain, heart skipping a beat as the gunman hit the call button and placed the phone between Peter’s ear and his shoulder. Peter raised his shoulder and held the phone there, stomach fluttering nervously.

“Count on it,” the gunman warned, clicking the safety off his weapon. “I _will_ shoot you.”

Peter said nothing, waiting patiently for the call to go through.

“ _Go for Stark_.”

Peter’s lip quirked in a sad smile. He swallowed more blood and tears down.

“Hey, Tony.”

There was a pause on the other line. Peter could’ve sworn he heard Tony’s breath catch in his throat for just a moment, whether from Peter’s voice or from the use of Tony’s real name, Peter wasn’t sure.

“.. _Pete. Hey, kiddo. Haven’t, uh...haven’t heard from you in a while_.”

“Yeah. Yeah I know. ‘M sorry.”

“ _Well, I guess I’ll get over it. It’s great to hear your voice, Petey.”_

“Yeah. Yours too, Tony.”

_“...So, what’re you up to? How has patrol been_?”

“Oh, you know,” Peter laughed dryly, sparing a glance to the gun looming mere inches from his face. “Same old, same old, I guess.”

“ _Hm. Any reason for calling, or did you just miss your old man?_ ”

Peter’s eyes glossed over with tears again and he stifled a sob, pursing his lips in a thin line.

“I just, uh...I was thinking.”

“ _Yeah? That’s a first._ ”

“Yeah, yeah. I was thinking...we haven’t had a movie night in a while. I’d really like to do that again, sometime. With you and Morgan.”

Peter could hear Tony’s enamored grin from the other line.

“... _Yeah. Yeah! That’d be fun, kid. Gosh, we would love that. Morgan misses you like crazy, you know. And, uh...so do I._ ”

“Yeah. I miss her, too.”

“Okay,” the gunman whispered, nudging his weapon a bit closer. “This is supposed to be a goodbye call. Now, tell him you love him, and let’s go.”

Peter glared at the man for a moment before returning his gaze to the ground and trying in vein to recalibrate his thoughts through the waves of pain coursing through his drugged limbs.

“So, uh...speaking of movie nights-”

“ _Hang on...Peter, I don’t have this number saved. What’s-?_ ”

“Just-listen, Tony. I need to ask you something.”

“... _Alright. What is it, kiddo?_ ”

Peter cleared his throat and prayed to whatever god that would listen that _Tony_ would listen, would really hear what Peter was saying and would act on it.

Again, he could only pray.

“...Do you remember when the Starfleet comes to help the Rebels in episode five?”

A pause on the other line. The sound of Tony’s breathing, even the faint sound of his heart that Peter could hear from the other line suddenly grinded to a halt before a shuffling sound made itself known on the other end and Tony’s breaths finally returned, panicked and fragmented.

“ _Stay on the line, Peter. Whatever you do, don’t hang up. Just-just keep talking, okay?_ ”

“...I was just thinking about that time we watched that episode together. Episode five, I mean.”

Tony was typing something on a keyboard. Peter’s head throbbed as he tried in vain to listen.

“I, uh...I had just gotten back from a patrol. I think I had hurt my knee or something.”

“ _FRIDAY, push a call through to Rhodey. Send him these coordinates._ ”

“And you,” Peter breathed a laugh, actually getting lost in the memory, “you insisted that you could handle it by yourself. I tried to call Cho, but you almost passed out trying to pop my kneecap back into place, and I didn’t want to stop you.”

“ _Get me a suit._ Now.”

“And then, since I couldn’t really walk, you decided to make us dinner and turn on a movie. You whined about how I always get to choose. You let me pick the movie anyway.”

“ _Stay with me, kid. I’m heading your way. Don’t you_ dare _hang up on me, yeah?_ ”

“I don’t really remember who fell asleep first after that. All I know is that we were both there on the couch the next morning.”

“ _I’m going as fast as I can. Everything is going to be okay, kid. I promise._ ”

“...That was before the snap. We don’t do stuff like that anymore. Like we used to.”

Tony said nothing this time. Peter swore he could hear Tony clenching and unclenching his jaw.

“I guess...I guess I’ve just been...guilty. Guilty for, I don’t know. Ruining your life.”

“... _Peter_.”

“Alright, c’mon,” the gunman’s partner stepped forward and nudged his partner’s shoulder, gesturing his head toward Peter. “Time’s up. This has been going on for too long. Hang up the call.”

“Listen, Tony. Before I go-”

“ _What? No, Peter._ No _. You don’t hang up, you hear me?_ ”

“-I-I need you to know that I love you.”

“... _Peter, baby,_ please _. Just hang on for two more minutes._ ”

“And-and I’m sorry. I’m _so_ , so sorry. For everything, I guess. I wish I hadn’t made you hurt so much. I wish I had been better, like you wanted me to be.”

“ _You are_ everything _, Peter. I don’t want you to be anything but yourself. I love you too. So damn much.”_

“Dammit, hang up!”

“I’m sorry, Tony. I love you. I love you.”

“ _Peter_ -!”

The second partner grunted in frustration and snatched the phone out from Peter’s shoulder blade before he threw it to the ground and smashed it into pieces under his boot.

“Great,” the partner huffed, “kid’s probably got the cavalry comin’ in, now.”

“Oh, gimme a break-”

“No, you know what?” he snatched the gun from his partner and cocked it, the barrel hovering in front of Peter’s face once more. “I’m sick of this. Cops are probably on their way over. It’s time for this to end.”

Peter closed his eyes and braced himself for the bullet that would inevitably end his life. For just a moment, he thought of Ben, then of course thought of May, of how unfair this would be to her.

He didn’t get the chance to stew in his own sadness before the ceiling was suddenly blasted through and War Machine was rising from the dust, a rocket-clad fist aimed at the gunman’s head.

“You move another muscle,” Rhodey warned, “and I’ll make pink rain up in here.”

The gunman looked to his partner for only a moment before he cursed under his breath, raised his hands over his head, and accepted defeat.

“Told ya,” the gunman scoffed.

“Shut up, nimrod.”

Rhodey had been practically dragging Peter out of the remains of the warehouse with one arm draped carefully around the kid’s shoulders when Tony landed about fifteen feet away, suit immediately blossoming open like a flower.

Tony was spilling out of it the second he could, stumbling forward and sprinting feverishly toward his kid. Peter held one hand over his bullet wound protectively before Tony was sweeping Peter off of his feet and cradling him in his arms, desperate and terrified and trembling and beyond _relieved_.

“You’re okay,” Tony choked out, hand cradling Peter’s head. He mumbled his reassurances into Peter’s shoulder, breathing in past the blood and smoke and sweat and straight down to _Peter_. He took in a recalibrating, albeit shaky inhale, glancing up to the heavens for only a moment before he clapped a hand on Peter’s back and rubbed soothing circles. “You’re okay. You’re alright.”

Peter nodded, acknowledging subconsciously that Tony’s reassurances were in no way intended for him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

Tony sighed as he pulled out of the hug, an enamored smile tugging his lip as he cupped his kid’s face and basked in the relief for as long as the universe would allow him.

“So,” Tony’s smile morphed into something more knowing, more amused though the unadulterated love remained. “Movie night, huh?”

Peter nodded, his eyes still brimming with tears. Tony instinctively brushed them away with the pad of his thumb, worry still etched into the lines of his face.

“As long as it’s not Empire Strikes Back.”

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think and follow me on tumblr @mjscornerr as well as the artist @broskepol!!!


End file.
